


The Park: Natasha

by KuriKoer



Category: Black Widow - Fandom, MCU, Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Ducks, Gen, Paris - Freeform, Vignette, atmosphere, mission, prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-28
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-29 17:28:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 583
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6385621
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KuriKoer/pseuds/KuriKoer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: "[a character] visiting a park in Europe (France if you like) for the first time. Contrast that with wherever they come from and how they feel about it, how they experience the new landscape." ~theicescholar</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Park: Natasha

A chilly morning in Paris, the sky a clear beautiful grey like polished steel, wide and open above the treetops. A young woman walks slowly around the pond, a black beret pulled down over her red curls.

Such peaceful serenity, Natasha thinks. Such freedom. A couple, arms linked, push a stroller on the winding path between the flower beds. It's magical here in summer, she's heard, the perfume of a thousand blooms strong in the air. The flowers are mostly gone now, but their green lush leaves are still alive, glaring up at the frost that threatens to descend.

Between the trees, something rustles and then a dozen birds rise to the sky, squawking in panic or merriment. She glances up at them. If she only sees the treetops and the birds, it's not that different from where she came from. The forests of Russia outside the base were just like this, bare trees in winter, birds squabbling for food. A hundred little girls running in between the winding paths, trying to survive. Then a dozen little girls. Then only three, but one of them was Natasha herself and that was what mattered.

She'd never been away from Russia before. This is her first mission here. She cannot be distracted. Noticing the details will keep her alive, but spotting the differences might get her killed. She still sees them.

The ornate benches painted a pale green, the white gravel lanes stretching wide and inviting between the trees. The small hut selling strange pastries that taste like a heaven she's never considered, and hot cocoa thicker than blood. The ducks on the pond are not afraid. They cluster unerringly around a man in a long coat carrying a plastic bag. Sure enough he takes out handfuls of bread to scatter in a wide circle. The ducks are crowing, shrill and excited. Other birds dive in, catching what they can. Natasha is drawing closer to the scene.

The birds are so single-mindedly focused on their crumbs that Natasha could pluck any one of them and snap its neck before it even emits a shriek of alarm to warn the others. She considers the amount of people who could be fed on so many pigeons, seagulls, plump well-fed ducks. She smiles coyly at the man feeding the birds.

He returns her smile brightly, throwing another handful of bread, but then the edge of his smile wavers. He glances at her more acutely, a thought passing like a cloud on his face. There's no time. She takes another step towards him, her own coy expression steady.

One quick puncture wound and she's back on her way. The birds don't notice anything is wrong for long, long seconds, don't notice the man's expression changing, don't notice the newcomer walking away. They scatter in alarm when their benefactor crumbles, half-bent, and falls to the ground. Then they rush back in, pecking and tearing at the plastic bag.

Natasha is already at the gate. A car drives by; once she's in it, she'll be whisked off back to the safe house and then out of the country. This is the last she'll see of the Parisian autumn sky. She glances behind her, an acquiescence to sentimentality that will be severely punished if ever confessed to. She captures a brief snap of the pond's mirror-like face, the ducks squabbling for the bread, the clear grey sky. And then she's already in the car's oppressive smell and the windows are tinted black.


End file.
